


Sharing the Same Feeling

by footsieinthegarden



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Asexual Enjolras, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 18:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/footsieinthegarden/pseuds/footsieinthegarden
Summary: Five times Enjolras tried to woo Grantaire, and the one time he succeeded, with the languages of love as his guide. (And a lot of help from his friends.)





	Sharing the Same Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> First time trying a 5+1...I know I didn't split up the +1 conventionally, but that's how it came out, and I must bow to my E/R muse.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, per se, just that there might be better ones.” Combeferre took his glasses off to rub at his eyes, and Courfeyrac cackled with glee.

“Can I tell Marius?”

“No, you may absolutely not tell Marius. This is private.” At least Combeferre winced in sympathy as he resettled his glasses on his nose.

“But Enjolras,” Courfeyrac whined as he dramatically draped himself over the top of the couch, “you’re the only two people in the whole world to use ‘woo’ unironically. What if Marius has some helpful tips?”

Enjolras made a face. “Once again – no. I find it hard to believe he has anything helpful to contribute in this regard. And even if he thinks he does, I do not want to end up acting the way he does about Cosette.”

Courfeyrac cackled even louder this time. “And what way is that?” 

“I’m not just going to – to moon over Grantaire all the time. I still have other things going on in my life.”

Combeferre grunted, but didn’t look wholly displeased, as Courfeyrac rolled down the back of the sofa to curl around him. “That is, like, the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard. If you can’t go all in on your wooing, I’m not going all in on the helping.”

“I think that’s a rather healthy attitude,” Combeferre said. “I will help, as long as you acknowledge I would propose a different plan.”

“And what would you suggest, Combeferre?” Enjolras folded his arms across his chest. Despite Courfeyrac’s accusation, he had been plenty distracted while he studied lately; he couldn’t let all that time go to waste.

“You could just tell him how you feel.”

“No!” Enjolras said before he could stop himself. He continued more quietly, “No. I need to figure out if he feels the same way first. I don’t want it to be awkward if he doesn’t.”

Enjolras was getting very sick of Courfeyrac laughing at him, and the wooing hadn’t even begun.

1\. 

“Do you think this is enough?” Enjolras asked, rearranging a piece of tissue paper for the seventh time, not that he was counting. 

“I don’t think it’s nearly enough,” Courfeyrac said from where he was sprawled out on the sofa with his eyes closed. If Enjolras had thought his presence meant he had decided to help after all, he had been sorely mistaken.

“Have you thought about maybe breaking this up into multiple gifts? Or saving some of this for if things work out? I think secret admirers usually go for something a little…smaller.”

“I’m not a secret admirer,” Enjolras snapped. He decided to switch the positions of the sketchbook and chocolate. 

“He’s a secret wooer, Combeferre,” Courfeyrac said, very unhelpfully. 

“I have to say, Enjolras, leaving a gift basket with no note for Grantaire does rather seem like something a secret admirer would do.”

“Secret wooer,” Courfeyrac said again, sing-songing it this time. Enjolras knew his face had turned bright red.

“Well, I can’t tell him it’s from me! It would be too weird if I did.”

“And giving him – let’s see – art supplies, chocolate, and a gift card for coffee isn’t too weird?” Only Combeferre could manage to ask that with no judgment in his voice. 

“They’re all things he likes and needs. I don’t see the problem.” 

“We should just count ourselves lucky he didn’t try to give him cash.”

Enjolras turned to glare at Courfeyrac, who had opened his eyes just to see that reaction. “If I thought cash was a good gift, I would’ve donated it to a charity in his name.”

“Oh my God,” Courfeyrac moaned and fell loudly to the floor. He was still lying there when Enjolras finally left to walk the gift basket over to Grantaire’s dorm. If Jehan’s information had been correct, Grantaire should be in one of his art classes at the moment, but there was still the chance he could have skipped and decided to roam around campus instead; Enjolras tried to ignore the way his heart beat a little faster as he scanned the crowd for dark curls covered in a beanie. He also tried to ignore the odd look the student clerk gave him when he gave her the basket. Maybe Combeferre had a point after all.

When everyone started to gather for their meeting that night, he decided Combeferre definitely had a point. Grantaire had brought the new sketchbook, and then told Jehan he had found it on the side of the road when asked. Marius, hovering nearby while he waited for Cosette to make her grand entrance, was the only one in earshot who appeared to actually accept that as a answer. Enjolras was thankful the meeting was sufficiently distracting for an hour, but his nerves surged back up when the socializing began. When Grantaire wandered around after getting up for a ginger beer from the bar, Enjolras really, really wished he had taken Combferre’s counsel, especially when both he and Courfeyrac had an urgent need to talk to Jehan. 

Enjolras pretended to be engrossed in the paper he had been idly editing, even though he couldn’t read a single word on the page as Grantaire set his bottle down very close to his arm. “If I’m going to have to break someone’s heart, a little warning would be nice.”

Enjolras froze. He stared at his hands, stuck in between keystrokes, but couldn’t seem to set them down. He swallowed very hard. “What do you mean?”

“The woman you gave this to? She thought you were super hot. Sorry, ‘like, super hot.’” Enjolras forced himself to look up in time to watch Grantaire wave his hands in air quotes. 

“You shouldn’t mock people for the way they talk,” he snapped and instantly regretted it, even though Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. 

“I’m not mocking – I thought I made it clear I was quoting her.” He picked up his bottle. “And don’t worry, I told her the only affection she could hope to win from you would be platonic.” 

“Did you at least mention our meetings to her?” Enjolras managed to say after Grantaire had stepped back. 

“But of course,” Grantaire said, stretching his arms out grandly. “I told her she will be welcome at my table, where us mere mortals sit.” 

Before Enjolras could formulate any sort of reply, Grantaire was gone, laughing with Joly and Bahorel over something. Or someone. Like him. “Enjolras?” He jumped and slammed his knee on the edge of the table when he realized Marius was standing next to him. “Can I ask you about a paper I’m writing?” Enjolras nodded weakly and watched Marius’s fingers flutter as he sat down. Marius conspicuously glanced around and then leaned in close, “Sorry, there is no paper. I just wanted to tell you it helps to bribe the receptionists if you want to drop something off secretly. I do it all the time for Cosette.” At this rate, Courfeyrac’s laugh was going to loop endlessly in Enjolras’s head until the day he died.

2.

“Well, that was so disastrous I’ve decided it is my moral imperative to help you.” Enjolras had never seen Courfeyrac, perched on the kitchen table, look so smug.

“It wasn’t just disastrous,” he said to the garish placemat Jehan had crocheted him from his last birthday. “It was mortifying.”

“I know,” Courfeyrac crowed. “I can’t believe Marius gave you advice after all.”

“He shouldn’t have been eavesdropping!” Enjolras snapped.

“You did set it up for Grantaire to have give a public reaction,” Combeferre said calmly. “And let’s look on the positive side – at least he knows it came from you. No misunderstandings there.”

“Ugh, but a misunderstanding could be so fun! We could write a romcom-slash-documentary about it and make millions. You can play yourselves and I’ll even give you a cut.”

“No romcoms,” Enjolras said, seconds away from grinding his teeth.

“Fine, fine, no romcoms,” agreed Courfeyrac easily. His phone buzzed and he looked down. “OK, Marius says that Jehan says that Grantaire has left for his exhibition. In a suit.” He tugged on Enjolras’s collar. “Come on, up you go, go put your sweater on over that now that we know you won’t be overdressed.” Enjolras stood up slowly but hurried away when Courfeyrac said, “Ferre, you should really wear suits more often,” and tried to block his ears when Combeferre said something about Courf liking his scrubs better. He put on the sweater, as bidden, and brushed his hair back into place. “You do look super hot,” Courfeyrac commented from Combeferre’s lap when Enjolras re-emerged.

“Remember, we’ll be there later if you need rescue,” Combeferre said, though he looked on the verge of distraction. Enjolras practically ran out the door and was halfway to the gallery before he wondered if Courfeyrac had done all that on purpose to keep him from dawdling. He slowed his pace but still felt a little out of breath when he arrived. He was relieved to find enough people already milling around inside that he didn’t look out of place, but few enough that Grantaire might have a few minutes to talk.

He forced himself to walk slowly around the exhibition, though he didn’t understand most of the pieces; he had to admit he didn’t really understand Grantaire’s either, despite the extra time he had to admire them while he waited for their creator to finish talking to a customer. He was surprised his jump didn’t launch him all the way through the ceiling when Grantaire suddenly said in his ear, “Like what you see?”

“Yes,” he said dumbly, instantly forgetting everything he had practiced. Grantaire’s suit did not help matters.

“Well, they’re all for sale, you know. I even donate a portion of all the proceeds to charity.”

“You do?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire had never mentioned it before.

“Sure. Why do you think I include a surcharge in my pricing?” It was only after he had taken a sip of his drink and started laughing that Enjolras realized it was a joke. “You know, Apollo, there was no need to come if this didn’t fit your schedule.”

“No, I was planning to stay,” he said quickly, snatches of his little speech coming back to him, finally. “I just wanted to come early so I had time to look. You’re very talented, Grantaire. I wanted you to know I think that.” It seemed unfair that he was the one giving the compliment but was also the one blushing uncontrollably. Grantaire was just looking at him like he had turned into an alien. There was a burst of noise from the front where the Amis had all arrived.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, compliments don’t exactly pay the bills,” Grantaire said before moving off to greet everyone. Enjolras was relieved when Combeferre and Courfeyrac finally extracted him so he could stew in his latest humiliation in the comfort of his own apartment. He saw Grantaire talking quietly to Jehan when they left but dared not read anything into it.

3.

“But what if Grantaire isn’t comfortable with physical affection?” Enjolras moaned into his hands. He knew Combeferre must have an exact count of how many times he had posed this question and was eternally grateful his friend was too kind to mention it out loud. 

“Combeferre, how is it possible I can love this man so much when he is so stupid?” Combeferre gave Courfeyrac a look in return, which just made him sigh in exasperation and point over at where Grantaire was arm-wrestling Bahorel. 

“Don’t point,” Combeferre admonished, even though his gaze was firmly fixed on his laptop.

“Fine, fine.” Courfeyrac dropped his hand onto Enjolras’s shoulder. “Enjolras, Grantaire had to explain to someone he sees in his dorm all the time that you are not into women or hooking up. You have already hit peak embarrassment. It can’t get any worse.”

“But this a different kind of boundary!” Enjolras protested. “I don’t want to make him feel violated.”

“Jesus Christ,” Courfeyrac muttered and then stood up and marched away before Enjolras could stop him. “Bahorel, R,” he said very loudly when he got to their table, “since this match appears to be a stalemate, I propose you try something else.” In less than a minute, Bahorel and Grantaire were engaged in using Feuilly and Courfeyrac to do bicep curls. It didn’t take long for Jehan to somehow clamber their way on top of Courfeyrac when Bahorel protested the contest was uneven. “Jealous?” Courfeyrac mouthed at him across the room, several times, in case Enjolras didn’t understand at first. 

“Are you jealous?” Combeferre asked, again without looking up. 

“Are you jealous?” Enjolras asked back, feeling childish even as he did so.

“Not particularly,” Combeferre said, unruffled. “I don’t think we would work as a couple if I was.” He looked over his glasses at Enjolras. 

“I – I wouldn’t be either, if I could – if I got a turn too.” 

“My advice still stands.” Enjolras thought Combeferre had more to say, but there was a commotion as Marius tried to join in, Cosette in his arms, and Eponine had to rush to save her skull from certain cracking. Enjolras took the opportunity to get a fresh ginger beer and glass of water from the bar and brought them to Grantaire when the chaos died down.

Grantaire gave him that strange look again. “I thought you might be thirsty – after all that,” Enjolras said, holding out the drinks. 

“Thanks,” said Grantaire after a pause and when he reached out for the ginger beer, their fingertips brushed. Enjolras focused on not doing something stupid, like flopping onto the floor. It was even harder when Grantaire took the glass of water and the same thing happened; it had to be deliberate. Also deliberate was the way Courfeyrac sauntered by and shoved him down into the vacant chair at Grantaire’s side. It took approximately an hour, not that he was checking Feuilly’s watch from across the table, but when he finally let his knee drift into Grantaire’s, Grantaire didn’t move away.

4.

“How do you work on your papers so far in advance but still have so much to do?”

“Hello to you, too, Courf,” said Enjolras. The only times he hated being tall were when he just wanted to be left alone at a study carrel at the library. He reached out very slowly and calmly to half close his laptop, but Courfeyrac instantly lit up. 

“Not a paper then. What are you working on? Dirty love notes? Well, no, you probably wouldn’t like that. Clean love notes? Marriage vows?”

“It’ll be transfer applications if you keep this up,” Enjolras said but didn’t fuss when Courfeyrac snatched his laptop up anyway.

“Oh, a playlist! How romantic. I’m proud of you, Enjolras.” 

“How do you even know it’s for Grantaire?”

“I didn’t, but thank you for confirming my suspicions. I applaud you for this next step. You two dumbasses might actually hold hands sometime this decade after all.”

“Grantaire is under no obligation to hold my hand. Jehan just mentioned Grantaire was looking for new stuff to inspire him while he works.” Enjolras was pretty sure Courfeyrac mumbled something about Grantaire finding his dick inspiring. He continued, “I just thought I’d…help.”

“You are delivering this in person, right?” Courfeyrac asked as he scrolled. “Wait, you seriously put a song about barricades on this? Oh my God, I think you’ve surpassed Marius at this point. At least his playlists for Cosette are love songs. Or songs he thinks are about love. They don’t totally overlap all the time.”

“I was just going to send him the link,” Enjolras admitted sheepishly.

“No!” said Courfeyrac loudly enough to get himself shushed. “No, no, no, no, no, and no,” he repeated, making up for the now softer volume. “I will take you to the studio myself if I have to. I’ll watch if I have to. Do not mess this up for me.”

“Mess this up for you?” Enjolras said indignantly.

“Yes, me. Come on, let’s get going before Grantaire graduates.”

Enjolras grabbed his laptop back. “Let me just finish this.” Courfeyrac generously, in his words, allowed him five more minutes of tinkering before force-marching him out of the library and to the art building. He followed Enjolras in but sat on a bench by the door.

“For all you know, I have all the exits watched, so no funny business. I’ll be asking Grantaire for his top ten tomorrow, so no pretending to just be stopping by either.”

Enjolras was surprised to find Grantaire alone when he knocked on the open door. The library had been packed. “It usually doesn’t pick up until after midnight,” Grantaire said by way of explanation as he wiped his hands and walked over. He seemed to standing a little closer than necessary, but maybe that was Enjolras’s imagination. 

“I – I see.”

“So, what brings you here to my humble abode, Apollo?”

“Wait, abode? You don’t actually live here, do you?”

“Nah, it only feels like it. Thanks for judging my theoretical living situation though.”

“No, that’s not-”

Grantaire smiled instead of laughing. “I know it’s not. I’m only teasing. Still sort of wondering why you’re here though.”

“Oh, yeah, um,” Enjolras fumbled gracelessly for his phone. “I – I made you a playlist. For while you work.” He looked down. “I can send you the link.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows but walked over to his work area to retrieve his phone. He stood even closer to Enjolras when he came back but kept his eyes down as he looked through it. “You do realize my phone can receive links from outside the room, right?” 

“Yeah, I suppose it could.” Enjolras wondered why he didn’t say something smarter. Courfeyrac must have made him do this for a reason. “I – I wanted to make sure you liked it.”

“Again, I could’ve texted you back. Maybe even with some reaction gifs.”

“Maybe I wanted to see your reaction in person,” whoever had seized control of Enjolras’s mouth said, out loud. That made Grantaire look up and continue looking at Enjolras for a long time, before he waved him over to an empty stool.

“Well, then, be my guest. Fair warning, I will have to kick you out when it’s time for the brooding phase of my creative process.”

5.

“All ready for your date?” Courfeyrac asked when Enjolras came out of his room. 

“Please, do not use the d-word. It’s just quality time. Combeferre, could you check my collar is alright?”

“Hear that, Ferre? Enjolras does not want the D.”

“Yes, I think we’re all aware of that,” said Combeferre dryly as he fussed with Enjolras’s collar. When Enjolras sighed, he added, “You have to admit you walked right into that one.”

“OK, fine. Courf, can you please just approve my outfit so I am not late for our dinner reservation?” It was the same ensemble he had worn to the art exhibition, only with slacks instead of jeans. 

“So many d-words,” Courfeyrac remarked as he looked Enjolras over a few times. “I suppose you’re ready.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. You’re the one who picked this out.”

“I know – do you have any idea how much pressure that is? But let’s be real, you could go in your pajamas and Grantaire would like it. He might even like it better. Please ask him so I know for the future.”

“There might not be a future,” Enjolras grumbled as he tied his shoes. 

“I think everything will be just fine,” said Combeferre. “Just let me know if you won’t be back tonight.” Enjolras blushed as he left.

When he arrived at the restaurant Grantaire had selected, he found that once again Courfeyrac had dressed him appropriately and he matched Grantaire well, though he wasn’t sure why Grantaire had his messenger bag along. He could’ve done without the intrusive thoughts of what Grantaire’s pajamas looked like, but that faded away as they got to chatting: about Grantaire’s preparation for his next exhibition, about how Enjolras’s classes were going, about the latest gossip of who had stolen the aardvark from the campus museum. That didn’t prevent Enjolras from noticing how Grantaire lit up when Enjolras solicited his suggestions on what to order, or what restaurants they might try in the future, together. He was too full for dessert at the end but had no complaints when Grantaire suggested a walk in the warm twilight. 

As they stood at the door, waiting for a large party to come in, he reached out to adjust Grantaire’s sleeve and then slid their hands together. He could feel himself trembling, but Grantaire squeezed gently. They walked that way through the streets, Enjolras letting Grantaire lead the way, not sure if the silence was totally comfortable.

“You know,” Grantaire finally said, “Marius sent me this quiz the other day.”

“Oh. Like those online ones that tell you what vegetable you are?”

Grantaire laughed softly. “A very odd example. I’m surprised you even know what those are.”

Enjolras laughed too, despite himself. “Only because Courfeyrac was insistent I was an eggplant. He was right.”

Grantaire laughed again, and then a little more slowly said, “Well, this one was a little different. He said it was for his psychology class, that they needed so many friends to take this test about what their love language was and then write a paper about it.”

“Marius isn’t in a psych class,” Enjolras said, without thinking. He would have to ask Courfeyrac to yell at him later. 

“I know,” Grantaire replied, but said nothing more.

“So,” Enjolras ventured after a pause, “did you? Take the quiz, I mean.”

“Nah, I don’t have time for that psychobabble shit. Actually, I’m just jealous I didn’t think of listing five different types of nice things to do for people and selling it and becoming fabulously rich.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras, very softly. He wondered if he should let go of Grantaire’s hand.

“Besides,” Grantaire said, staring fixedly ahead, “even if that stuff is real, I think it’s more important who you speak the language with, if you’ll forgive the clumsy metaphor.”

Enjolras stopped and waited an excruciatingly long time for Grantaire to turn to him. “And do you – do you have anyone like that?”

Grantaire looked down at their joined hands, and then back at Enjolras’s face. “I’m not sure. Do I?”

+1

“Would a kiss be sufficiently unambiguous?” Enjolras asked, wondering if he would die of awkwardness before any enactment could happen, but Grantaire smiled and leaned up to meet him. 

They looked at each in the fading light when Grantaire lowered his feet back flat on the ground. “I can’t believe you said sufficiently unambiguous.” They both laughed, and Grantaire leaned into Enjolras as they slowly wandered back in the direction of campus. “But I shouldn’t tease when I made Jehan find out from Courfeyrac whether kissing was even alright.”

“I think Jehan is going to be the one to end up fabulously rich and powerful,” Enjolras observed, doing his best imitation of Combeferre’s dry tone.

“I’m not sure if Combeferre will be willing to loan Courfeyrac out to be their platonic ruling partner, but I bet our favorite triad will help them come to some arrangement.” They laughed together. 

“Come home with me?” Enjolras suddenly asked. 

“Of course.” Grantaire squeezed his hand again. “I’d hate for us to disappoint.” Enjolras stopped puzzling over that cryptic remark when they walked into his apartment, and also into a blizzard of confetti. Enjolras laughed as he rolled his eyes and hustled Grantaire to his bedroom; it was a miracle he got the door locked before Courfeyrac caught them. 

“I just gave you dorks a reason to touch each other’s hair, so you owe me the full story in the morning.”

“Good night, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras said loudly. 

“G’night,” said Grantaire. “Please tell Jehan I will be unreachable for the foreseeable future.” He held up his bag. “Pajama time?” Enjolras could only agree that it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout-out to every E/R playlist that has Barricade by Stars on it.
> 
> And yes, a frat did successfully steal a stuffed aardvark from my college's museum. No one noticed for a month.


End file.
